


It Seems Like I Should Say, "As Long As This Is Love"

by dweadpiwatemeggers



Series: Emerald and Bronze [10]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love Letters, Mutual Pining, Not-Love Letters, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dweadpiwatemeggers/pseuds/dweadpiwatemeggers
Summary: Fed up with dealing with her feelings alone, Charlotte begins to write some letters. She doesn't send them. She can't send them. But at least she can pretend to tell him how she feels. Very minor spoilers for the Book 3 demo. The only part of Emerald and Bronze which will adhere completely to canon, so updates may take a while.
Relationships: Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Series: Emerald and Bronze [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948069
Comments: 25
Kudos: 49
Collections: A series of familiar letters





	1. Chapter 1

**_Three weeks after the Carnival reopening._ **

_Written on pages torn from a yellow legal pad._

Adam,

I know you’re avoiding me. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not blind. I’m a detective. Do you know what that means? It means that I notice things for a living. It is literally in my job description to notice things. And I’ve been noticing you since you walked into my office three months ago.

I know you’re not on patrol the nights I’m at the Warehouse. I’ve seen the schedules. They’re not exactly above my clearance level. And someone very helpfully posted them in the kitchen, just in case I wasn’t aware of who is and isn’t in the building when I’m in the library. I’d suspect it was Farah, trying to be her version of helpful, but I’m not letting Nate off the hook entirely. Did you know that he perks up when he hears you coming? It took me a little while to work it out, but he cocks his head at a very precise angle when you pass by in the hallway. And I know it’s you. He doesn’t move the same way when it’s the others. Remind me to play poker with him sometime. I’ll see if I can’t win some of his fancy books.

I should stop this. I know I should. I deserve better than this. I deserve to be acknowledged, goddamnit! Even if only to tell me that it’s over (how can you end something before it starts?), or that it won’t work (but, fuck, Adam, I was willing to _try_ ), at least look me in the eye and _tell me_ to get lost. But you won’t, will you. You almost did once. That night I found you in the training room, and we argued (when do we not argue), and you told me to stay out of it. And I asked, _I asked_ , if that was what you really wanted. But you said no. So, I kept trying. Like a fool, I kept trying, and I thought that maybe I was getting somewhere.

Do you even remember what you said after the run-in with the Trappers? When I told you what it meant to me, seeing you like that (knowing it was my choice that landed you there. I didn’t say that. But it was)? You touched me. It feels like I can count on one hand the times you’ve done that willingly, intentionally. I can count it on one hand and have fingers leftover, so you can be damn sure I remember what happened next. “Tu omnia,” you said. I had to look it up when I got home. Half-drugged, half-asleep, and you were whispering endearments in Latin. I thought maybe if you were willing to say that, maybe we could move forward. So, I tried to hold your hand at the carnival. And you let me. You let me slide my fingers between yours and you didn’t move, and I swear I had arrhythmia, and I wasn’t breathing, and if I really concentrate, I can remember exactly what it felt like to have your palm against mine.

And now you won’t even talk to me.

God, this is ridiculous. How long are you planning to string me along?

It doesn’t matter. I’m not having it. I’m done, Adam. I’m done. Whatever this could have been…whatever this thing is that’s going on between us could have become, it’s obviously never going to be that. And I’m getting out while I still can. Before I waste my life pining over a fucking glacier. Global warming be damned, they’re clearly not melting in _my_ lifetime.

Goodbye, Adam.

Charlotte


	2. Chapter 2

**_Wayhaven Police Department, Detective’s Office, Early Morning_ **

_ Written on the back of a traffic report destined for the paper shredder. _

Damn you.

No.

_ Fuck _ you. You  _ absolute fucking bastard _ .

It’s been a month. You’ve been ignoring me for a full fucking month, and I was sure, goddamnit it,  _ I was so fucking sure _ that I was done with you, that I could walk away and pick up my broken pieces, and glue myself back together and move on. I did it before. I did it before and I never looked back. But no. No, you felt the need to play the goddamn knight-in-shining armor and I just… gave in to the bullshit. Again.

What is  _ wrong _ with me? 

I was ready. I was sure I was ready. I was so,  _ SO _ ready to just say it’s fine, we can be civil (were we ever civil?), we can be teammates, we can just go back to the way it was when we first met and the only thing keeping us from hating each other’s guts was sheer professionalism. But I can’t. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, but I can’t. I was scared, and you were there, and I was relieved, and you looked like you always look, hard as rock and soft as rain and I could have said something then, I  _ should _ have said something then, about how I can’t keep doing this, how it has to stop. And I tried. Goddamnit I  _ tried _ . And I damn near made it. I walked away, just like I convinced myself I would.

But I didn’t fight it when you walked me to my room. I should have. I know I should have. But I didn’t. I let you walk me to my room, and I let you talk me into confessing that this bounty worries me. And I got sucked in by whatever it is that makes me so damn drawn to you, and I let you make me believe that you still care. 

We all make mistakes when we’re tired. (Is that what it is, Adam? Do you see me as one of your mistakes?)

But I know that if you walked through my door right now, I’d be throwing this letter on the floor, and as soon as I looked in your eyes, I wouldn’t remember a single word of any of it. God, how do you do it? How do you look at me and make me forget everything? How do you make me forget  _ myself _ ?

It’s not fair. You  _ can’t _ look at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, you can’t say these things that make me feel like you’d do whatever it takes to…I don’t even know.

_ Fuck _ , Adam, I feel like I’m  _ drowning _ when you look at me. I feel like I’m drowning, and you’re standing on the shore just  _ watching _ . I’m going under. And I’m too tired to fight it. A month ago, I came to meet you halfway and it feels like you haven’t moved an inch. Or maybe that’s all you moved. I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m here. Whether this is where I planned to be or not, whether it’s where I even wanted to be or not, I’m here. God help me, or forgive me, or damn me, I don’t even know anymore, but I can’t walk away from this.

I’m here.

And I’m pretty sure it’s killing me.

Charlotte


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Book 3 demo released December 4, 2020.

**_Wayhaven Police Station, Detective’s Office, Late Afternoon_ **

_ A postscript added to the previous letter. _

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I could have just waited, I guess. For you to finish whatever it was you were trying to say. For you to pull away, again. But I’m tired (so tired) of waiting. Tired of wanting. And I need you to know it. At least one of us should know where we stand.

God knows I don’t.

Actions speak louder than words, they say. And if that’s true, then you are the absolute  _ master _ of the mixed message. “There is nothing between us.” Sure. Nothing but the way you blushed when I brushed up against you in the doorway. (It was an accident. There wasn’t much space. But a blush suits you.) Nothing but the way you took my hand - and you ran your thumb over my palm - when you could have let it fall. ( I can still feel it. Somehow you didn’t leave a mark. It feels like you should have. Like I’ve been branded. I can’t ever unknow the way your hand fits with mine - how warm it is, the shape of your fingers - broad, square, how  _ right _ it felt.) Nothing but the way you looked at me - I swear, it was like you were going to kiss me.

Maybe you would have, if I hadn’t said anything. But I doubt it.

I don’t know who you’re trying to convince, Adam.  _ I  _ don’t believe you. As much as it hurts to hear you say it. (And it does. It’s sharp and heavy and it burns like frostbite.) I don’t even think you believe yourself anymore. And I don’t know why you want (need?) it to be true.

I wish I did.

Charlotte


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Book 3 demo released December 4, 2020.

**_Detective Langford’s Apartment, Late Evening_ **

_ Written in a wire-bound notebook, next to a grocery list. _

There’s a patch of wild daisies growing in the planters out front. I was half-tempted to pick one on my way home today to see what it could tell me about you. Did the game where you pluck the petals off to find out whether someone loves you exist when you were young? (When you were young. Before the table fork was in use in most of Europe. It’s still hard to wrap my head around just how old you are.) I don’t even know if it has a name, but you pluck the petals from a daisy, one at a time, and you alternate between ‘he loves me’ and ‘he loves me not’ with each pluck. The last petal left is your answer.

Maybe love is too strong a word.

Fuck it. It’s not like you’re ever going to read this anyway. And I may as well admit this to myself.

It isn’t. Too strong a word. Because I think I’m in love with you. I know almost nothing about you. (And I know a little more than I did yesterday. You’ve never spoken about yourself that much before.) But I know that you feel sympathy for grieving mothers. That you value friendship. That you seem to understand me better than anyone else I know. And I think I’m in love with you. 

And you… I don’t know what happened to you. (Maybe you’ll tell me someday.) I can guess, though. That was them in the mirror, wasn’t it? Your home, your family: your parents, your siblings, Cecilia and Phillipe and Bram. And you blame yourself for what happened. So even though you care (and you do, I understood what you were saying) you can’t. Just in case it happens again.

So, I guess this is how it’s going to be. Having feelings from afar because of duty, or oaths, or whatever. Like a courtly romance.

You know, it’s ridiculously medieval of you, Adam. You’re showing your age.

Charlotte 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the lyrics of "Anna Begins" by The Counting Crows.


End file.
